


A Pleasure To See You

by ohgodmyeyes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Memories, One Shot, Regrets, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgodmyeyes/pseuds/ohgodmyeyes
Summary: Former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker invites his mother to visit the home he shares with his wife on Naboo....Or does he?
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 21
Kudos: 55





	A Pleasure To See You

"Oh, Ani... Ani, it's _beautiful_ here." 

"I told you, mom— it's everything you always used to say you wanted for me, isn't it?"

Shmi smiled up at her son as he led her eagerly toward the expansive lakeside residence he shared with his wife. They were coming from a small shuttle in which he'd flown his mother for the purpose of coming to visit (since she was no longer a slave, a visit had been easy to negotiate), and he was as excited to show her where he now lived as he'd ever been about anything. 

"It is," Shmi nodded, as they stopped so that she could get a good view of the lake Anakin and Padmé's home overlooked. The water was crystal-clear; from where they were standing, it took on the appearance of a captivating, uninterrupted swath of flawless blue. The surrounding forests were a brilliant, verdant green; the cliffs dotted with healthy foliage and family homes set into the stone. The whole place looked like a painting, or perhaps a picture from an especially well-illustrated children's book— the type of book Shmi herself might have liked to read to Anakin when he was younger, if only she'd had the means. "You know," she added, "part of me thought you might have been exaggerating when you told me how lovely it was on Naboo."

Anakin shook his head. "No, I meant everything I said. It's perfect here— no slavery; no Hutts... and the only sand to be found is on the beaches." 

Shmi laughed at that. Even though he'd grown up around it and, perhaps, ought to have been used to it by the time he had left to go off with the Jedi, her little boy had always loathed the sand on Tatooine. He used to tell her as much while she'd shake it out of his clothes, and sweep it out of the house. 

They stopped staring at the scenery then; continued walking toward the entrance of Anakin's home. As they did, Shmi told him for what might have been the hundredth time since he'd come to gather her from Tatooine, "I'm proud of you, Ani— _so proud of you._ I've always known how special you are, and now that you've grown up, you've built a life with other people who see you the same way I do. You know how happy that makes me, don't you?"

It was all Anakin could do to keep his face from turning red; all he could do to keep in check the ecstatic grin threatening to completely overtake his features. He hadn't so much as spoken to his mother for years prior to picking her up to bring her here, and it felt wonderful to know that she still took pride in him. She'd given so much of herself to raise him; more, sometimes, than she'd even had to give. In his mind, it was the least he could do to show her that her efforts had paid off— that he was living a good life, the kind she'd always thought he should have.

It was of utmost importance to him that his mother know she'd raised someone she could be proud of, because he loved her. Anakin had always loved his mother.

As he opened the front door and stepped aside to let her into his home, he couldn't help but reflect on his own happiness. It was an unlikely sort of happiness, and often it felt as if it had been quite hard-won, but it was his— his, and his wife's. He wasn't a Jedi anymore; however, thanks to Obi-Wan, he'd left the Order on good terms. They knew that he would be there if they ever needed him, and vice-versa. Obi-Wan, in fact, came here to visit with his old friend as often as he could; the two of them were still close. That closeness was yet another source of joy for Anakin; one that he never could have anticipated, but for which he was nonetheless very grateful.

Anakin had a good life, now— in spite of his origins, in spite of his long tenure as a slave, and in spite of the inner battles he'd fought and won to get to where he was today. 

"Padmé!" he called as he stepped into the house behind Shmi. "Padmé, my mom is here!" He'd been quite eager for the two of them to meet again; they hadn't done so since Anakin was just a little boy.

In short time, Padmé appeared; she was both heavily pregnant, and stunningly beautiful. Her hair was loose, and her dress was long and flowing. She looked as angelic to Anakin as she had on the day they'd met in his old Master's shop, back when he couldn't have imagined living the way he happened to be living now.

"Padmé," he greeted her, walking over to offer her a tight hug and a chaste kiss before leading her over to where Shmi was still standing by the door. "Do you remember my mom? She remembers you— she told me on the way here that she could hardly believe I got you to marry me."

Padmé smiled widely at her husband's boyish excitement, while his mother laughed gently and told him, "I didn't say it quite like _that,_ Ani."

Before Anakin could say anything to that, Padmé turned to Shmi. "Of course I remember you," she said, "and I can't tell you how good it feels to be able to welcome you into our home the same way you welcomed me into yours on Tatooine." She was telling the truth about that: The hospitality Anakin's mother had shown her all those years ago had made a tangible impact on her. She'd never forgotten it, in much the same way Anakin had never forgotten her. She stepped up closely to Shmi then; put her arms around the only other person in existence who her husband loved as much as he loved his wife.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, too," said Shmi, returning Padmé's joyful expression. "Thank you for taking care of my little boy— although I suppose he isn't so little anymore, is he?"

With a laugh and a shake of her head, Padmé confirmed, "No, he's really not— in fact, he's due to be a father himself, soon." She placed a hand on her stomach as if to emphasize that point.

"Ani told me," said Shmi. Knowingly, she added, "Not, of course, that I wouldn't have been able to guess if he hadn't. How long will it be until the baby arrives?" 

"A month or so, I think," said Padmé. 

"Do you know whether it will be a boy or a girl?" Anakin's mother placed her own hand on Padmé's stomach, then; the younger woman did not object. Shmi smiled as the child inside offered its grandmother a greeting in the form of a sharp kick.

"Oh!" Padmé exclaimed, in response to the sudden movement. Then, "No, we don't know yet— I think it's more fun if it's a surprise, though, don't you?" 

Shmi agreed, and then went on to tell Padmé about what it had been like for her during the time she'd spent pregnant with her own son, waiting for him to arrive. Anakin, having taken a few steps back, stood by silently, just watching them. He couldn't stop smiling; didn't _want_ to stop smiling: Few things in the galaxy could have made him happier than to see the two people he loved most in the world bond over a shared experience. He couldn't believe he'd had the good fortune of not only bringing them together here on Naboo, but of having them both in his life at once to begin with. Part of him had thought he'd never see either of them again, after arriving at the Temple on Coruscant as a child to begin his training.

He couldn't imagine anywhere else he'd rather be than here, or anyone else whose company he'd rather be enjoying. What he had the unanticipated privilege of experiencing right now seemed to make it worth all the times in his life that he'd felt lost; without hope. He had something to live for now, and nothing and no one could take that away from him... not even the Emperor.

...Emperor?

_Emperor._

_"Lord Vader, the Emperor has requested your presence. He says he has an urgent matter to discuss with you."_

Lord Vader?

_"Lord Vader! Please, Sir, are you awake?"_

When Anakin's eyes snapped open, he awoke to find that he wasn't Anakin anymore at all... or at least, _he_ certainly didn't think he was. To him, Anakin Skywalker was dead now; long dead— a ghost, or perhaps just a vision. A memory not unlike his mother or his wife, the women whose images so frequently invaded his dreams; taunted him.

That taunting never, _ever_ failed to enrage him. If he hadn't been both limbless and afloat in a tank filled with bacta at that moment, he might very well have used his lightsaber for the purpose of taking his anger out on the officer who had disturbed what was supposed to have been a meditative period of rest. Between the fluid surrounding him and the breathing apparatus strapped onto his face, he could hardly even begin to guess which officer it happened to be... not, of course, that the intruder's identity mattered very much to him at all.

Because his physicality wasn't available for him to use just then (it wouldn't be until the bacta drained and his limbs were reattached to his decimated body), he used the power of the Force to constrict the man's breathing. The unsuspecting messenger was brought to his knees in submission as the air was squeezed from his lungs, and an invisible hand wrapped itself tightly around his neck.

As he was reassembled and removed from his tank by the team of droids which always monitored his rest, Vader watched. He used the sight to cleanse his mind of the tortuous fantasy that had penetrated what was supposed to have been a restorative fugue; extricate (if only temporarily) the memories of the woman he'd killed, and the woman he'd been unable to save.

If the Emperor needed him, after all, then it meant he had to make haste. There was no time for dreaming; no time to allow his imagination to run amok, and dampen his focus. His mother and his wife were both dead and gone; while he'd have relished having them back, he had more pressing matters to which he needed to attend.

By the time his limbs and suit and mask had been applied to his body and he'd started (in his own unique way) to breathe the room's air again, he had released from the Force's grip the officer who'd disturbed him, and relegated his memories of his loved ones to the very back of his mind.

He didn't look back at either the breathless man or his own newly-emptied restoration tank as he exited the room, and made his way down an ominously silent corridor for the purpose of meeting his Master.

Darth Vader found himself particularly glad that day of the fact that his mask had the effect of hiding the expression on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> My other fics: ...
> 
> Me: *writes this*
> 
> I know, I've done this before. I really liked the idea of adding Shmi, though, so I did. (Also re-watched Rouge One last night, and seeing Ani in the bacta that way is just so beautifully tragic.) This story doesn't necessarily take place on Mustafar, but I guess it could.


End file.
